


Love's Proper Exercise

by Luthien



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Belle's heart was broken. She has long since considered herself a bookish spinster, but things change the night of Lady Nolan's ball.</p><p>Regency AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Proper Exercise

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Damerel and Telanu for looking this over for me.
> 
> This was originally intended to be the third AU in [Four Ways They Could Have Met and One Way They Did](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3772081/chapters/8382232), but it ended up way too long so I'm posting it as a stand alone story.

_This wondrous miracle did Love devise  
For dancing is love's proper exercise._

From 'Orchestra, or a Poem of Dancing' - John Davies

~

It was scarcely past ten o'clock and the dancing was only now getting properly underway, but Belle sat amongst the dowagers, making polite conversation, and wishing heartily that the evening was long over. She did not go into society much these days, but her cousin, Lady Nolan, had told her very firmly that she must attend tonight, on pain of disappointing her daughter, Emma, whose come-out ball it was. In truth, Belle was not in the habit of hurting anyone's feelings, and would not have caused Emma unhappiness for the world. She also owed Mary Margaret much for her kindness over the past ten years. However, the inside of a ballroom held no joy for her. Had the ball been hosted by anyone other than her cousins, or held anywhere other than in the house in which Belle resided, she would have politely declined the invitation. But this one was both of those things, which was how she found herself here now, at the very first ball she had attended in… well, in ten years.

Belle watched the dancers bow to their partners as the country dance that had opened the ball came to an end. Emma was chattering excitedly to another young lady as she left the dance floor, a picture of youthful beauty in a round gown of pale blue sarsnet trimmed with white satin and embroidered with seed pearls. A delicate pearl drop pendant around her neck, long white satin gloves and a simple blue ribbon threaded through her shining golden hair completed the ensemble into which Lady Nolan had put much careful thought. The captivating result was as much a tribute to the mother’s good taste as to the daughter’s graceful carriage.

Belle’s three-quarter dress of soft primrose yellow crape fastened with gold rosettes and worn over a slip of primrose satin was also new, but a little out of fashion now despite the cunningly wrought roses embroidered in gold along the bodice. She had resisted all of Mary Margaret’s efforts to persuade her to procure a gown in a more modish style or more fashionable colour.

Belle smiled fondly as she watched Emma's progress across the room, where she was claimed by her partner for the next dance. Once Belle too had loved to dance, in the days when she was young and carefree. She could not dance now without too many memories crowding in, but somehow her feet still itched to be out there on the dance floor.

As if reading her mind, her cousin appeared before her, magnificent in lilac spider gauze set off to perfection by the famed Nolan amethyst and diamond necklace and a plume head-dress of white ostrich feathers. She was accompanied by a dark-haired military gentleman in scarlet regimentals. Belle got to her feet, only her good manners preventing her from sighing. Her cousin had never quite given up on her attempts at matchmaking, even though Belle, if not yet numbering herself quite amongst the ape leaders, now wore a lace cap as befitted either a long-married lady or one who considered herself beyond marriageable age.

Lady Nolan looked inordinately pleased with herself as she turned to her companion and said, “Major, I don't believe you have yet been introduced to my cousin, Miss French. Belle, may I present Major Scarlet of the 53rd Regiment of Foot.”

Belle’s heart almost stopped. The 53rd. That was what Mary Margaret had said. _Not_ the 52nd. And yes, of course one look at his uniform confirmed it. There were the colours of the 53rd, the red facings and gold lace. Major Scarlet looked old enough—just—to have been with the army in Spain ten years ago, but if he was a member of the 53rd he would not have taken part in the Battle of Corunna, would not have seen _him_ , could not even have known of his existence.

They made their bows, and Belle matched the major's polite smile with one of her own. They conversed for a short time, speaking of the weather, of the heat of the crowded ballroom, of nothing of consequence. He paid her no outrageous compliments, not even the old one likening her name to her appearance, and in return Belle made no comment about the colour of his coat matching his name. She suspected they were both somewhat grateful about that.

Belle was not surprised at all when Major Scarlet asked her to dance, and scarcely more surprised when she accepted. She dared not look in Lady Nolan's direction as the major led her out onto the floor to make up a set for the quadrille. Belle would be hearing about this for days, and possibly weeks—right up until the moment that Mary Margaret reluctantly accepted, once again, that Belle had no interest in furthering her acquaintance with any gentleman desirous of finding a wife.

The music started up and Belle put her exasperation with her cousin to one side as Major Scarlet took her hand and they danced the opening steps of the quadrille. It was exhilarating to dance again. There was no other word for it, for the feeling that overcame her as she joined with the other dancers and they moved through the figures of the dance, creating something that was more than the sum of its parts.

And then she saw him.

It was only for a split second as she turned halfway through the second figure, just a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. She must be imagining things. Surely! Her mind was playing tricks. It was the ball and the dancing, and Major Scarlet's being in the 53rd, bringing memories from long ago back to life.

The wait before she could look again seemed interminable while the other couples danced in turn. She wished desperately to turn around and stare, but she could not. Doing so would be unthinkably rude. And not just rude. The thought of finding _him_ standing there when she looked again terrified her, but the prospect of looking again and seeing only an empty space froze her in place. At last it was their turn to dance again. Belle took the major’s hand again, stepped forward, turned… and there _he_ was again. He was staring straight at her this time.

He looked older, his hair streaked with grey that hadn't been there ten years ago, and as for the rest… Those years weighed on him, and showed in the lines on his face, but that still didn't explain the hard set to his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. Unless it wasn't him, of course, because how could it be? The man she had known was dead.

The dance moved her on and Belle was left to wonder all over again if she'd imagined it, imagined him, until the dance steps afforded her her next glimpse. 

The man was still staring at her, his look unwavering. Flustered, Belle took a wrong step and almost tripped. Major Scarlet's hand closed around her arm, steadying her. She smiled a distracted smile in apology, but merely shook her head when he asked if anything were amiss. Her feet walked her through the rest of the dance almost of their own volition. Her attention was consumed by the man who watched her, even when she could not see him. 

He must be a phantom, a dream, but a dream wouldn't stare at her in such a rude, disagreeable way. And a dream would look like the man she remembered, or, rather, the man she couldn't forget: a younger man, though not precisely young, even then, dressed in a scarlet-coated uniform showing the buff facings and silver lace of the 52nd Regiment. A man who had smiled and hoped and dreamed with Belle, and then gone away and died on a distant Spanish battlefield.

Fortunately, the quadrille was only a relatively short dance, though this one seemed endless to Belle long before the music came to an end. Fanning herself as they left the dance floor, Belle cast a quick glance over the top of her ivory-brise fan. The  man who had been watching her had turned away, his attention claimed by a gentleman Belle recognised, one of Lord Nolan's frequent companions on the hunting field and in the boxing ring.

"Tell me," she said to Major Scarlet after he had thanked her for the dance, "do you know who that gentleman might be? The one over there in the dark blue coat talking to Mr Humbert? He looks so very familiar that I think we must have met before."

Major Scarlet turned slightly to flick an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve and stole an unobtrusive glance over at the two gentlemen.

"Why, yes," he said, turning back to Belle. "That is the new Lord Gold. He came into the title most unexpectedly after the old viscount and his only son were lost in a boating accident last summer."

"Yes, I remember. Such a tragedy," Belle managed to reply. She felt quite faint.

"He's some sort of distant cousin, I believe. He has only recently come to town, after many years away." 

Belle closed her eyes for a long, agonisingly painful moment, and swallowed hard.

The major shot her a concerned look. "Are you all right, Miss French?"

"I think I am a little overcome by the heat," she replied. It wasn't an untruth. She felt hot all over, and strange, as if her body did not belong to her. Lord only knew what sort of expression was on her face.

"Come, let me find you a seat, and then I will procure a glass of cold lemonade for you directly."

"You're very kind, but I believe a short period of quiet by myself away from the heat and the noise will set me to rights."

"Of course," the major agreed immediately.

He took his leave of her, and at last Belle was free to escape. She did not hurry from the room, but nor did she walk sedately. Some of those present were known to her, if only on slight acquaintance, but she did not stop to exchange smiles or greet anyone as she made her way to the door. 

It was cooler out in the hallway, free from the press of people, though still hardly private. She moved swiftly to the library door but raucous laughter from within stopped her before she could turn the doorknob. It appeared that some of the older gentlemen had already retreated here to play whist. The library would not be her sanctuary tonight.

Belle continued on down the hallway to the small book-room. It was to this cosy, book-lined room that Lord Nolan frequently betook himself whenever the house filled with morning callers, many of them young ladies and their mamas who talked of little but ribbons and furbelows so far as his lordship could see. It was, ostensibly, the place in which he took care of matters of business, and a handsome mahogany writing desk stood beneath the window. However, the room also contained a pair of lyre-backed mahogany armchairs in the Egyptian style set out on either side of the fireplace, and it was to one of these that Belle retreated as soon as she closed the door behind her. She sank down into the squab cushion, trembling slightly, and at last allowed herself to let out a shuddering breath.

 _Her_ Mr Gold had been a cousin to old Lord Gold, or perhaps his father had been. Regardless, the relationship had not been a close one. Perhaps this new Lord Gold was some near relative of the late Mr Gold, though she knew he had had no brothers. That would explain the resemblance—though it did not explain the way he had stared at her all through the dance.

The door opened with no warning and Belle jumped in her chair.

Lord Gold entered the room. He closed the door quietly behind him and stood there, leaning on a malacca cane and staring at her just as before. 

This time, Belle stared back.

"Nothing to say?" he asked harshly after a moment. "I'm sure you never expected to set eyes on me again, did you?"

Her Mr Gold had never directed such angry and bitter words towards her and yet it was his voice. There could be no mistaking it. Belle trembled in earnest as she got to her feet. He still made no move to approach her, so she came to him.

Still half-afraid that this was some sort of hallucination, Belle reached out to touch him. Her fingers brushed his sleeve before he jerked his arm away.

"You're real. You're alive," she said, blinking back tears. "I thought… I thought you were dead. Killed at Corunna."

"Of course you didn't," he snapped, apparently unmoved by her distress. "You couldn't wait to accept Lord Gaston's offer the moment you received the news that I'd been maimed and crippled at Corunna."

"What? No, I—"

"Unfortunately, he didn't turn out to be quite the matrimonial prize you'd hoped. I hear his estates were hopelessly encumbered by the time he fled to the continent without you." He laughed mirthlessly. "Did that disappoint you, my lady Faithless? It sounds like a dish served with your own sauce to me."

"You're wrong," Belle said, feeling hysterical laughter trying to bubble up through her tears. "I didn't—"

There was a knock at the door and Lady Nolan entered the room. She uttered a soft cry of surprise as she nearly walked straight into Lord Gold, who hastily moved out of the way. He limped, Belle noticed, and leaned heavily on his cane as he did so.

"Lord Gold," exclaimed Lady Nolan, "I didn't expect to find you here."

"I came in search of a few rubbers of whist and took the wrong door," he said coolly. 

"Card tables have been set up in the library and some of the gentlemen have already gathered there. It is the door at the other end of the hallway on the other side. You cannot miss it, I'm sure," Lady Nolan replied. Her voice was equally cool as she took in the scene before her at a glance.

Lord Gold cast one last, long disdainful look at Belle then nodded to Lady Nolan and opened the door.

"Ranald, wait!" Belle cried.

He turned back and looked her up and down in a way that was hardly gentlemanly. "No, I think not," he said, and left the room.

The instant the door had closed behind him, Lady Nolan turned to Belle. "My dear. What on earth did he say to you to leave you in such a state? I will make very sure not to send him an invitation to any of our parties in future."

Belle sniffled and blinked away a few more tears, but, much to her relief, she did not break down and weep, as it was clear Lady Nolan was half expecting her to do.

"No, I… It's all right, Mary Margaret. Truly. There was a misunderstanding."

"How could that be?" Lady Nolan asked. "You didn't have time to exchange more than a few words with Lord Gold before I came in, and if you had met him before today then I am sure that I would know it." She considered Belle in thoughtful silence for a moment. "At least, so I thought until you addressed him by his first name. You really should have told me that you had met him, though I am at a loss to know quite how. He does not seem the type of gentleman to frequent Hookham's circulating  library and you hardly go anywhere else these days."

"We… we knew each other before. A long time ago." Belle's fingers closed around her fan, so tightly that the sticks dug into her palm.

Lady Nolan still looked somewhat quizzical at Belle's answer. "It must have been a very long time ago. You have spent every Season in this house these past nine years and—" Her eyes went wide and she put a hand to her open mouth. "He's the one you still refuse to talk about, isn't he? The one who…" Her voice trailed away.

"The one who I knew ten years ago, the year you and David were away in Vienna. Yes, _that_ one," Belle confirmed. She threw herself down in the armchair again. "I thought he was dead and now he's not but for some reason he thinks that I married Lord Gaston all those years ago and I very much fear…" She took a deep breath and sat up straight, suddenly determined. "I must speak with him before he leaves." She jumped up from the chair and might have plunged off in search of him then and there had not Lady Nolan's hand on her arm restrained her.

"Very well, but you should stay here while I look for him. I will find some way to prevent him from leaving the house until you have the chance of a private word with him."

Belle had opened her mouth to protest but now she stared at her cousin in surprise. "You'll assist me in this? You're not going to try to dissuade me, or suggest that we talk it over first?"

Mary Margaret smiled, and Belle was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes. "I see the cousin I grew up with standing before me again," she said. "I had thought that she was gone forever." She brushed her eyes and drew herself back up into the imposing figure of the Countess of Nolan, the hostess of one of the most fashionable squeezes of the Season. "You stay here while I ascertain the whereabouts of Lord Gold."

Once Lady Nolan had gone, Belle fished a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed it at her face. She wished there was a looking glass in here, but a quick press of her fingers against her hot cheeks told her that her face must still be pink and probably a little swollen thanks to her tears.

It was quiet and peaceful in the book-room, apart from the muted strains of the orchestra coming from the other side of the wall. Belle herself was quiet, though far from peaceful, her head a tumult of thoughts. She watched the hands of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece slowly creep around the dial as she waited, so she knew that it was not many minutes before Lady Nolan returned, though it seemed far longer.

"Lord Gold is still here," Lady Nolan said in reply to Belle's anxious look upon her entering the room. "He is in the card room playing at whist. I have instructed David to bring him to you once the rubber is concluded. Let me see your face." She moved a little closer and gently took Belle's arm to turn her towards the light from the candle flickering in the wall sconce. "Oh yes, you look much better now. I think we should both return to the ballroom, before our absence becomes worthy of comment."

"Before yours is, you mean," said Belle, tucking her handkerchief back into her reticule. A society hostess needed to be everywhere at once on an evening as important as her only daughter's come-out ball, but few would notice, or miss, the hostess's spinster cousin.

Lady Nolan shook her head. "Your sudden departure from the ballroom was noted, as was Lord Gold's swift pursuit of you, and not just by me. You must go back now or there will be a deal of talk."

Belle had been in society long enough by far to know that Mary Margaret had the right of it so she assented, reluctantly, to return with her to the ballroom. However, this plan was thwarted the moment they stepped out of the book-room by Lefroy, the butler, who wished to consult Lady Nolan on some matter to do with the arrangements in the supper room, so Belle re-entered the ballroom alone. She was half-expecting to be the cynosure of every eye, so it was a relief to discover that her return went unnoticed. Well, almost unnoticed. One pair of eyes were watching her closely, Belle realised. The Duchess of Millston rose from her seat as Belle drew near.

"Good evening, Miss French." Her dark eyes swept inquisitively over Belle.

"Good evening, Duchess." Belle made a very slight bow. She had liked the Duchess at one time, when she was young and new to the ways of the world. She had been a great comfort to Belle when the terrible news had come that the man she loved had fallen in battle. Since then, time and experience had taught Belle to be wary of the Duchess, but she was Mary Margaret's stepmother and so there was little chance of avoiding her when she chose to turn her attention Belle's way. It was difficult not to notice her, regardless. 

The Duchess was dressed in black, as befitted her status as a widow, but there was little about her toilette that otherwise suggested mourning. She wore a dress of black Italian crape over a black satin underdress. Her gown sported a demi-train and a great many flounces, and was adorned all over with jet beads that sparkled as they caught the light of the many hundreds of wax candles in the great crystal chandelier overhead. A shawl of silver spangled black gauze was draped around her shoulders _a l'Ariane_ while her hair was arranged fashionably _en Camille_ and was crowned with a coronet turban of black gauze and crimson satin. Around her neck was clasped a necklace of sapphires so dark that they appeared almost black until they caught the light. She looked as regal as a queen.

"All alone, I see," the Duchess observed.

"For the moment," Belle said.

The Duchess's eyebrows rose. "Are you expecting company?"

Belle berated herself inwardly. The Duchess had a way of goading her into saying too much with very little provocation, and now she had done it again with a single comment. "This is a ball, is it not? There is company to be had all around me."

"Indeed," the Duchess agreed, but she seemed to be paying closer attention to the expression on Belle's face than to her reply.

"If you will excuse me, Duchess," Belle said.

"Of course," the Duchess said and gave an infinitesimal nod of dismissal.

Belle felt the Duchess's  eyes on her as she continued on her way. The ballroom was even more crowded than before. Guests would arrive and depart throughout the evening, of course, as they moved to and from other social engagements, but more than four hundred of the five hundred invitations that Lady Nolan had sent out had been accepted. It seemed to Belle that most of those people were in the room right now.  The light and heat of the ballroom closed in around her as the dancers whirled by, dazzling and stifling all at once.  She skirted the dance floor, keeping just out of the way of the dancers, and found a seat on one of the long sofas that had been placed along the walls for the comfort of those not currently engaged in dancing—and also for the purpose of seeing and being seen. This particular sofa commanded a good view of the main door, being situated directly opposite. 

Belle sat and waited and tried to maintain her composure through the cotillion and then a scotch reel. Her mind was a whirl of disconnected thoughts. It was easy to believe that she'd imagined the events of the evening, most particularly the aborted conversation in the book-room, but... _she had touched his sleeve_. The feel of the worsted wool of his coat beneath her fingers had not been a dream, nor had the sound of his voice, even if all he had had to say were baseless accusations. She should have gone after him! She would have caused a scene, stalking into the card room demanding that he listen to her, but… she would not do such a thing and spoil the ball for Lady Nolan and, especially, for Emma. This way was better. Lord Nolan would escort him over to her and they would meet in full view of everyone, so Lord Gold would have to listen, civilly, at least long enough for her to utter a complete sentence. Only one sentence was required. The right one. Then they could begin the conversation anew.

The orchestra was just starting up a waltz when at last the tall figure of Lord Nolan appeared in the doorway, closely followed by… yes, it was Lord Gold. He did not look terribly happy about being there, but he was heading in her direction, nevertheless. He limped, she noticed again. His malacca cane was clearly far more than just a fashionable accoutrement. His leg must give him considerable pain, she thought, her heart aching for him. 

Lord Gold chose that moment to shift his gaze and he looked straight at her. It wasn't a pleasant look but Belle felt her cheeks flush and hastily took up her fan. She would be cool and composed by the time the two gentlemen reached her, and most definitely _not_ blushing.

But they didn't reach her. They were not quite halfway across the room when they stopped to speak with someone. The crowd of people constantly coming and going made it impossible for Belle to make out who it might be from this distance. But then the lady got to her feet. 

Belle watched, all the heat leaving her to be replaced by a frozen numbness, as the Duchess of Millston turned to leave the room on Lord Gold's arm. He was going to leave. He _was_ leaving, and then… Belle had no doubt that it would be long, if ever, before she saw him again. It would be too late.

Now was her only chance.

The next moment Belle was on her feet and advancing across the room. If before she had felt as though she were in a dream, now she had awoken, and not just from one night's sleep. This nightmare had persisted for ten years. Belle hurried as she went, dodging around people who stood in her way, and even stepping onto the dance floor in her haste. She almost collided with one of the waltzing couples; the gentleman managed to steer his lady out of the way just in time. She brushed past Lord Nolan, who only managed to exclaim her name in surprise before she continued on her way.

She did not reach Lord Gold and the Duchess before they left the ballroom, but when she all but dashed out through door she found them still in the hallway, which was, very fortunately, all but deserted.

"Lord Gold!" she called out.

He did not turn around, nor even pause in his halting progress along the hallway, though he must have heard her. Was he going to give her the cut direct, then? Belle would not allow it. She _would_ be heard.

She called his name again as she hurried to catch up with them. This time, at least, Lord Gold stopped and waited, and the Duchess had no choice but to do so as well.

"Lord Gold," Belle said a third time when at last they were face to face.

"Lady Gaston. To what do I owe this… _pleasure_?" His lip curled on a sneer when he said the last word. And as for the look in his eyes… Belle had never thought to see such dislike there. But then, she had never thought to see those eyes again at all until tonight. Even his palpable dislike was preferable to the dreadful nothingness of the past ten years.

"I'm not Lady Gaston," she said, lip trembling. "He married someone else."

His expression faltered for a second, and Belle caught a glimpse of the man she had loved so long ago. Then that man was gone again as Lord Gold's gaze hardened.

"What are you saying? That I was misinformed as to the identity of your husband? I do apologise, most sincerely," he said, and executed a mocking little bow, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. 

Belle shook her head, frustrated and hopeful all at once. "I didn't marry anyone. I'm not married. I'm still Belle French."

Lord Gold's hand slipped from the handle of his cane and he stumbled as he caught it again only just in time before it fell. When he looked up again, the hard, disparaging expression was gone and something else entirely was written on his face.

"Belle," he said hoarsely, wonderingly, and reached out to touch her hand. 

She closed her hand about his at once, and held on tight. His grip felt warm and solid, even through evening gloves. Warm and alive and real.

"I thought you were dead," she said, willing herself not to cry.

"Well, I'm not," he said, with a broken little laugh. "I was wounded, but I didn't die. Why did you think…?"

"Why did you think I'd married Lord Gaston?" Belle asked. "There was never the slightest chance of it."

Lord Gold went still, and all the warmth went out of his face. Dread curled around Belle's heart as she watched him, but his hold tightened on her when she would have withdrawn her hand.

"I was told," he said in a slow, deadly voice. He wasn't looking at Belle now, though, but at the Duchess. "Tell me, Belle, who was it who told you that I had been killed at Corunna?"

"The Duchess brought the news to me," Belle said. She didn't have to stop to think about it, or attempt to recall. The memory of that moment had never left her.

"Why?" Lord Gold demanded, his eyes hard on the Duchess's face.

The Duchess made no effort to dissemble. "I wanted you to suffer, as I had," she replied coolly, matching Lord Gold look for look. "I didn't expect the misapprehension to last for long. Certainly not five years."

"Ten," Lord Gold ground out.

"Ten, then. Does it really matter? You could have fixed the situation at any time if you'd had the courage to confront Miss French when you returned from Spain. That part was not my doing. Instead, you sailed off to heaven knows where and only old Lord Gold's death brought you back."

"Why did you want to make _me_ suffer?" Belle asked quietly. "I can think of no injury I might have caused you, either intentionally or by accident."

"I'm afraid you were simply collateral damage, my dear. I held no personal animosity towards you, I assure you. Besides, you seemed to recover and come back to yourself after some little while. You were always bookish, and now more so than ever. You've really spent ten years languishing over _him_?" she asked, as if incredulous.

Rage filled Belle. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but one which she welcomed. She wanted to slap the cool smile right off the Duchess's over-rouged face. She took a step forward, but Lord Gold was quicker.

"Get out of my sight, Regina," he snarled. "If you ever come near Belle again I will make very sure that you regret it for the rest of your life."

The Duchess's smile deepened in apparent amusement.  "Really, Ranald? I never would have cast you in the role of the gallant hero defending his lady love." She tilted her head, as if considering. "It doesn't suit you."

They stared at each other in a silence that fairly bristled with hostility. The Duchess was the one to look away.

"I will return to the ballroom now," she said, straightening her gloves. "I believe I am promised to Mr Humbert for the next dance." And with another small, mocking smile, she swept off, leaving Belle alone with Lord Gold.

They were still holding hands. Belle looked up into Lord Gold's eyes. They were the warm brown eyes she remembered, all their former cold darkness fled along with Regina. He smiled down at her in silence, a gentle, still-disbelieving smile. Belle let out a shuddering sigh and smiled back. What did one say at such a moment?

Laughter rang out from the ballroom and they both glanced towards the door. 

"Might I beg a word with you in private, Miss French?" he asked, his sudden formality surprising her. She had been 'Belle' when the Duchess was present.

It was quite improper, of course, for an unmarried lady to steal away with a gentleman during a ball, or at any time. Some things were more important than propriety, though. Besides, Belle wore a lace cap these days, so she was hardly an innocent maiden recklessly endangering her virtue.  "Let us go back to the book-room," she suggested.

He let go of her hand, but only so he could hold out his arm to her. Belle took it, resting her hand on his sleeve, and together they made their way to the book-room. 

Lord Gold did not take her in his arms the moment the door was closed behind them. He did not touch Belle at all, in fact, and nor did he utter a word. He seemed unsure of quite how to begin.

"You sounded as if you know the Duchess well," Belle said hesitantly.

He grimaced. "Yes, I've known her since she was a girl. She blames me—partly—for… well, for many things, all of them far in the past. One or two of them are even my fault."

"You didn't ever… care for her?" Belle would rather have spoken of almost anything else, but it was a question that needed to be asked.

Lord Gold blinked in surprise. "Regina? No, we were more like… not brother and sister. Uncle and niece, perhaps? There was a connexion of sorts, when she was young and I was… younger than I am now." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "There is only one lady that I have ever truly cared for, the only one I ever have loved and ever shall love, and here she stands." Even if he had not spoken, his gaze, as open and vulnerable as it was warm, told her everything she needed to know about his feelings for her.

It was easy to melt into his arms then. Belle had always thought that phrase a little ridiculous, but then, she'd never understood what it truly meant until this moment. Her hands stole up around his neck as his arms came around her, and finally their lips met.

When at last the kiss ended, Lord Gold did not release her. He continued to hold her close as his lips drifted along her jaw to her neck.

"I'm so sorry, my darling, so very sorry," he whispered against her ear. "For not coming back to you when I should have, for believing Regina's lies even for a minute, and for all the cruel things I said to you this evening."

"You're here now, with me. That's all that matters," she whispered back.

He kissed her again. 

They were both breathing heavily by the time they broke apart. Belle looked up into Lord Gold's face, letting her eyes drink in the beloved, well remembered features. It was an angular face, not classically handsome, but it was one from which she found it almost impossible to look away. The rest of him was less familiar. Gone was the scarlet coat, though he still possessed somewhat of a military bearing despite his need of a cane to move easily. In place of the soldier was a man of fashion. He was dressed very correctly in silk stockings and knee-breeches, a waistcoat of watered silk and a swallow-tailed coat of dark blue superfine with gold buttons. His starched white linen neckcloth, now sadly a little the worse for wear, was tied in the style known as _Trone d’Armour_.

Belle thought that she could become accustomed to Lord Gold's newfound style.

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked, toying with a lock of hair hanging down beside his face. His hair was still longer than was strictly fashionable. Belle was glad that that much, at least, had not changed. "The Duchess mentioned your sailing away, so I collect that you have not been in England?" 

"I have been in the colony of New South Wales, about as far away from England as it is possible to be, making my fortune." 

"Really? I know little of the far colonies, I confess. Do they perhaps grow tobacco or sugar there?" 

"Wool," he said, smiling. "But what of you? You look hardly changed since last we met. You were wearing a primrose gown very like this one the first time ever I saw you. I can't say the same for this lace cap, however," he added, pushing a hand under the edge of it and threading his fingers in her hair.

"I wasn't an old maid then," Belle pointed out.

"You are not one now," he said, his light tone turning serious again. "Will you be At Home if I call on you tomorrow?" He shook his head. "I don't even know whereabouts you live. Are you still keeping house for your father?"

"Papa died," Belle told him with a sad smile, "just after you… not long after the Duchess brought me the news from Corunna. My cousin, Lady Nolan, took me in. I have much cause to be grateful to her." 

"All this time, I thought… And all the time,  you were living here as a poor relation!" He sounded outraged.

"Oh, not a _poor_ relation," Belle hastened to assure him. "I inherited the London house, but of course I could not set up household by myself. Not when I was only twenty, in any event. I have appreciated the company of my cousin and her family a great deal these past years."

Her explanation did not appear to mollify him, however. "I should have returned long ago," he muttered.

"As I told you, you're here now, with me, and that is all that matters." Belle leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. On the other side of the wall, the orchestra started up another waltz. "I believe you do owe me a waltz, though," she added. Nowadays, the waltz was danced everywhere, even within the hallowed halls of Almack's. Ten years ago, it had been considered rather more shocking, and few young ladies danced it if they were not engaged to be married at the least. Before he left for Spain, Lord Gold—Ranald—had promised Belle that he would waltz with her when he returned. From the way his eyes darkened now, it was clear that he, too, remembered that pledge.

"I cannot dance, sweetheart," he said regretfully.

"Lean on me," said Belle. "I hope very much that you will continue to do so even after this waltz is ended." It was presumptuous, for he had not spoken of the future, or not specifically, but he did not seem to mind. He snatched up her hand and kissed it, and took her in his arms.

Their dance wasn't really a waltz, not quite, but they swayed to the music and lost themselves in the melody and in each other, and only stopped when at last the music ended.

"We should return to the ballroom," Belle said, her cheek still pressed against his shoulder.

"We should," Lord Gold agreed.

Neither of them moved.

"If we both disappear from the ball at the same time and don't come back, people will talk," Belle said.

"Let them," said Lord Gold, and reached up to stroke her cheek. Belle lifted her head to look up at him again.

It was surprising how easy it was to keep kissing once one made a start. 

They could have stayed like that indefinitely, except that at last Lord Gold stumbled and leaned heavily against Belle, and admitted, reluctantly, that he needed to sit down and rest his leg. It marked the end of their private idyll, and they both knew it. The real world called them back, but this time they would face it together instead of apart. Belle took Lord Gold's arm once again, and they stepped out into the hallway.

Like the ballroom itself, the hallway was decked with fresh flowers for the ball. Two large set pieces made up mainly of roses sat beneath the great oval Classical reliefs facing each other halfway along the hallway. Lord Gold stopped by one and removed a single red rose from the arrangement. He held the rose out to Belle.

"If you'll have it," he said. "And me."

Belle swallowed hard. It was an echo of words he'd said to her in another life, when a flower was scarcely all he'd had to offer her, apart from himself. There was a reason why she had made sure that the gown she'd had made for tonight's ball was embroidered with roses. She'd thought that Lord Gold had not noticed, or had forgotten.

Of course he had noticed, and of course he remembered. She should not have doubted him, and she would take care not to do so again.

She took the rose with a hand that trembled ever so slightly.  "Of course I will," she said, trying to let everything she did not say show in her eyes. They could not kiss out here, or even embrace. 

She threw herself into his arms—carefully, so as not to put extra weight on his leg or unbalance him. Their mouths found each other in a kiss that said more than mere words ever could.

That was the sight that greeted Lady Nolan when she came from the ballroom in search of Belle a few moments later.

"Belle!" she exclaimed, and Belle turned around, still in Lord Gold's arms.

"Mary Margaret," Belle said, through lips turned up in a smile. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. It was ridiculous. "Lord Gold intends to call on us in the morning. I trust you will be At Home?"

"It appears that I had better be," Lady Nolan replied, looking meaningfully at Lord Gold's arms where they encircled Belle.

Reluctantly, Belle moved away from Lord Gold, just far enough for propriety's sake. His fingers brushed against hers.

"I take it that you have spoken with Lord Gold and resolved the misunderstanding that you mentioned to me earlier," Lady Nolan remarked to Belle, with massive understatement.  "I hope that everything will be well going forward." 

"I know all will be well," Belle said, and smiled up at Lord Gold. "This time no one but myself will decide my fate."

               

**Author's Note:**

> [Read the prequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3772081/chapters/8710057), showing how they met.


End file.
